The Man I Married

by Elena Wilkes

  She cocked her head towards the door of the Ladies’ and I got the gist. The door closed behind us with a soft whump. She leaned against the basin and folded her arms. ‘You look awful.’

  ‘Ever the flatterer.’ I smiled wanly. ‘You don’t look so swish yourself.’

  ‘No, honestly, Luce. Have you looked at yourself recently?’ She pulled me round to look at my reflection in the mirror. ‘I mean, look how pale you are? You feeling okay?’

  ‘We’re both knackered. The house is definitely a work in progress. A lot of work and not much progress,’ I sighed.

  ‘And you’re not worrying about the Gould thing? I mean the phone stuff. The police?’

  The mention of his name made my stomach turn over and with irritation too. ‘God, the jungle drums are fast round here, aren’t they? How do you know about all that?’

  ‘You know you can always talk to me, don’t you?’ She searched my face. ‘I know I’ve been replaced and you’ve gone up in the world now, but—’

  ‘Oh don’t talk daft!’ I laughed, but Paul’s words came back to me. ‘You could never be replaced. Talking of which, how’s the complicated love-life with Connor? You booked your plane tickets yet?’

  She wrinkled her nose and sighed. ‘Connor’s been well and truly relegated to the back-burner. He’s being a bit of a cock, actually. And “complicated” is bloody spot on. There’s always some drama or other to deal with.’

  She began to give me snippets of the latest ruck he’d had with his wife. I watched the shadows moving over her lovely face, wondering how I didn’t know all this and why the hell our friendship had got in this state.

  ‘Anyway,’ she shook herself. ‘Enough of all that. I still haven’t been invited over to this amazing work in progress to meet this spectacular bloke who managed to crack your defences.’

  ‘You leave my cracks out of it,’ I grinned. ‘You’re a wonderful woman, Emma Roberts. Look, let’s sort something, shall we?’ I immediately thought about Paul but dismissed it. I’d talk to him. He’d be fine. ‘Come over, see the house and have a lovely meal at the same time. I promise I won’t cook.’

  ‘Sounds perfect.’ She stepped forward and gave me a massive hug. ‘Just say when… Oh—’ she cocked an ear, listening. ‘I think those are Viv’s dulcet tones I can hear. Weren’t you supposed to be meeting her?’

  A wash of dread turned my guts to water. ‘I am, but I really wish I wasn’t.’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ Emma kissed me on the cheek. ‘You’ll see.’

  * * *

  She was wrong. I saw that as soon as I walked in.

  ‘Ah Lucy! Have a seat.’ Viv got up from behind her desk and gestured to the comfy chairs around the coffee table. Michelle from H.R. was already sitting there, a folder on her lap and her H.R. smile at the ready. There was a cheerfully decorated pottery bowl on the table next to a strategically placed box of tissues.

  ‘I’m hoping both of those are for decorative purposes only,’ I joked. I sat awkwardly. I knew the blow was coming.

  ‘Now. Lucy. Thanks so much for agreeing to this meeting…’

  That was how it started, but it wasn’t the way it ended. The words that I’d been dreading Indefinite leave due to work-related stress with a ‘care plan’ in place, was the conclusion. I was ‘advised’ to make an appointment to see my G.P., then I’d be seen by occupational health, with a weekly follow-up phone call from Viv to monitor my progress and address any ‘worries’ that I might have.

  No one wanted to hear my side of the story, not really. Viv said that they had to be careful not to be seen to be ‘harassing’ Simon Gould, who was meeting all of his post-release requirements, was perfectly co-operative with all interventions and wasn’t posing any threat to the community ‘as far as anyone was aware’.

  It was clear to me that Simon Gould was a pat-on-the-back rehabilitation success story, whereas for me, the plot and I had parted company some time ago.

  ‘Give yourself some time to breathe and then let’s look at where we are in six weeks time,’ Viv said. I left her office smiling and thanking her, a performance designed for Emma and Dave and anyone else who might be watching. ‘Time to breathe,’ they’d framed it as. That was just about all I could do.

  Emma was nowhere to be seen as I walked blindly out into the fresh air. I was aware my feet were moving but it was as though a pane of toughened glass was sitting between me and the real world. I just wanted to be at home.

  ‘Sweetheart, let me have your phone.’ Paul held his hand out across the heap of empty packing boxes in the kitchen. ‘That place and those people are toxic. I’m not saying it’s deliberate or they’re even aware of it. It’s the system; it’s the way these places work. Don’t see anyone from there, don’t even think about it. Concentrate on making this old place shine – You know you want to.’

  And so I threw myself into the house renovations with blind and frenzied enthusiasm: pulling up ancient stuck-to-the-floor carpets, hacking at the worn lino, pulling down filthy blinds and piling the whole lot into skips and watching it trundle away. The physicality of it calmed me. Paul calmed me. I thought I’d panic with no contact with the outside world, but the opposite was true: it was a blessed relief. Simon Gould and Caitlin were like something from a terrible recurring dream that now I’d woken up from. Cassie Edwards became a name of a little girl lost along with all the other little girls I’d dealt with in my past life. I was determined this new life would be my future.

  We peeled the walls back to brick, and we sealed over all the cracks. We mended and we restored. The house smelled of new beginnings: the tang of wet plaster and drying paint. So far, we had a bathroom and half a kitchen – Its solidity grew, with me secure and solid inside it.

  The tension in my neck and shoulders turned into the physical ache of hard work, but it was a good ache. My shoulders strengthened and loosened, my back muscles tightened and eased; the tendons and ligatures learned to remember how strong they were, as strong as the person I used to be.

  * * *

  Paul became the man I’d always dreamed of. I watched him when he wasn’t aware of it: wrestling with some pipe or fixing – an intent look of concentration on his face. I felt a huge rush of something intensely powerful then, more than anything I’d ever felt before. All thoughts of Dan were gone – replaced by a new and all-consuming sense of belonging. Something bound me to Paul so tightly I knew I would never be able to break free, even if I’d wanted to.

  Doctor’s appointments came and went; I made excuses for some, others I accepted their prescriptions that went along with it. ‘These are very mild,’ they always said. I assumed ‘mild’ was just like them: wishy-washy and pointless. The prescriptions lay in the drawer, uncashed. Viv rang me as she’d promised, and we exchanged pleasantries and then I handed the phone calmly back to Paul. I didn’t want to listen.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘Right decision.’

  I thought about Emma and I thought about mentioning something about seeing her but each time I put it off. We were too knackered, I told myself. It would be too much hassle. I didn’t want to hear about work. All of that was true, and yet wasn’t but I dismissed it. We were happy, weren’t we?

  Each night I lay listening to the reassuring steadiness of his breathing, luxuriating on the brink of sleep, my fingers creeping over the flat plains of my stomach, and allowing myself to imagine the unimaginable. Could I be pregnant? It was possible, after all. I thought about what might be happening deep in there – would it be this month, or the next, or the next? It was a supremely weird idea that this time next year I could have a baby. The thought didn’t frighten me as I thought it would; I had this feeling of quiet and calm contentment. My body had turned away from the outside world to the possibility of an inner life. For the first time in my life I was centred and sure. It was a sensation I wasn’t used to: I’d become me.

  * * *

  We’d begun tackling the garden; the rusting lawnmower we unearthed was j
oined by an upright vacuum cleaner and an abandoned garden hoe, only held together by a mass of beetles and wandering roses. It was hot and dusty and my hands were sticky with sap, but I was in heaven.

  ‘So here are those iron seats then.’ Paul dragged a load of bindweed into a pile so I could see what he was talking about. ‘And look what was with them.’ He pulled away another load. There sat a stunning stone carved bench, green and grey with lichen and moss.

  ‘Oh my God!’ I went over, running my fingers across its pitted surface. ‘How beautiful is that?’

  ‘We’ll shift it round by the French doors. What do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s absolutely perfect.’

  We rubbed the ironwork down and bought some paint. Then I remembered I’d seen a motley collection of old cushions in a junk shop in Southgate. So the next day I went and bought them, along with some gorgeous velvety material I’d spied which I painstakingly cut and hand sewed it into cushion covers. I was incredibly proud of my achievements and took them out to show Paul. He was busily tying back the massive viburnum.

  ‘Hey, what do you think?’ Each chair was now adorned with my beautiful cushion creations. I stood back to appreciate my work.

  ‘They look great, don’t they?’ Paul came up behind me and put his hands on my hips.

  ‘Thank you.’ I leaned my head back against his shoulder and he absent-mindedly pulled his fingers through my hair.

  ‘Doesn’t all this hard work make you want to show it off?’

  ‘Mmm?’ I didn’t really get what he was talking about.

  ‘Do you think it might be time to come out of hibernation now?’ His fingers twisted into the hair in the nape of my neck and it pulled a little. ‘I mean, start mixing with people again? It’s not good to live completely like a hermit, you know.’

  ‘No?’ I tipped my chin quizzically, not quite believing.

  ‘Why not? While the weather’s holding. We could eat out here.’ He untangled his fingers and in so doing, yanked strands of my hair.

  ‘Ow!’ I squawked.

  ‘You should cut it.’ He lifted an end and tickled my nose.

  ‘Sorry?’ It itched where he had pulled and I rubbed the spot.

  ‘You should have your hair shorter. You always clip it up nowadays anyway. It looks good off your face. Quite sexy, actually.’

  I unwound myself from his clutches, giving him a warning look but he only grinned and gave a little shrug. ‘Just my opinion.’

  ‘The great thing about opinions is that they’re yours and yours alone.’ I collected up my paintbrush and tin. ‘I’m going to ring Emma, okay?’

  ‘See if she’s free tomorrow for Sunday lunch!’ he called after me, reaching for the garden rake.

  I looked back in surprise.

  ‘While everything is looking so fantastic. Why not?’

  * * *

  ‘My God! Is it really you?’ She sounded like she’d been running. ‘Where’ve you been! Where’ve you been! It’s like forever since we’ve spoken! Literally!’

  ‘It really is. I’m back from the dead.’

  ‘I’ve been asking you to call me. I’ve been really worried!’

  I frowned, puzzled. ‘Because I didn’t know you’d called.’

  ‘Your man Paul said he’d tell you. Anyway, what was he doing answering your phone?’

  ‘Probably looking after my mental welfare,’ I said sardonically.

  I was a bit surprised he hadn’t mentioned it. ‘Anyway. What are you doing for Sunday lunch?’

  ‘What, like tomorrow Sunday lunch? … Err… Coming round to you by the sounds of it. Are you cooking?’

  ‘Paul will be, don’t worry,’ I laughed. ‘Will Connor be joining you?’

  ‘Connor?’ she said, all mock puzzlement. ‘Ah, you must mean Harry. Do you ever get names right?’

  ‘Oh Lord!’ I laughed. ‘Do I take it New Zealand is off the cards then?’

  ‘No New Zealand, thank god,’ she chuckled. ‘My best friend is here, why would I want to go there?’

  ‘At last! She realises! Right. Harry, is it? Must remember that.’

  ‘Actually, talking of friends, I’ve just realised I’ve got some friends, Jess and Luke, staying with me at the mo. Is it okay if I bring them too? Can you stretch to four of us?’

  I mentally calculated if the table would be big enough and if we’d have enough chairs.

  ‘If you don’t mind sitting on the recycling bin,’ I laughed. ‘It’s no problem at all.’

  ‘Why not?’ she sighed theatrically. ‘You can put me and the empties out first thing on Monday.’

  ‘I don’t think we’d want you recycled would we, Emma? You’re bad enough in your current form. We don’t want you coming back as something else.’

  ‘Ooh! Look who’s feeling better then?’ she retorted.

  And she was right. I was.

  * * *

  Pushing the trolley round the supermarket, I mulled over the menu we’d planned. I’d got the salad stuff so far, and then thought it might be nice to make some little canapes, and wondered what I should get.

  Rounding the cosmetics aisle, I happened to catch sight of my reflection. My hair was off my shoulders and my neck looked long and sleek. I paused, pretending I was reading a lipstick advert and turned my face to the side. Maybe Paul was right. Why not have it cut short? I never had, so why not give it a whirl?

  Whizzing round the aisles and picking up loads of delicious bits, I chucked it all in the car and called my hairdresser. I’d been going to her for ages and I knew if she could fit me in, she would.

  ‘You’re dead lucky,’ she shouted over the noise of the driers in the background. ‘My five o’clock has just cancelled so I’m all yours.’

  I rang Paul and made some excuse about why I’d be back later than planned. He didn’t sound particularly pleased, but I was ridiculously excited. I loved the smell and the bustle of the hairdressers. Late afternoon was a great time to go. It was a completely different atmosphere; there were only a couple of other clients being finished off and it was cosy and unhurried. The dark blue sky filled the huge windows and the passers-by were getting fewer. Bex, my stylist, was going out for a birthday drinks later and had bought in a few bottles of prosecco which I was invited to share. It was girly, fun and chatty, and I found I was really enjoying myself.

  ‘Married, eh?’ She grinned at me in the mirror as I watched curls of wet hair falling in shards down the front of my gown. ‘You’re a dark horse, aren’t you?’ she laughed. ‘You never mentioned it. I love a good wedding, me. Big party, was it?’

  ‘Oh it was back up in my home town and it was all a bit of a whirlwind,’ I said and changed the subject. I’d started to feel more than a little nervous at the amount of hair in my lap. I chatted on, more to distract myself than anything, but I shouldn’t have worried. Bex finished blow-drying and moved away from the mirror and I saw myself for the first time. The dark wildness had been tamed to a choppy bob, the fringe framing my eyes making them look huge and even greener. Caitlin came into my head but I immediately dismissed the thought.

  ‘I love it,’ I said. ‘I really, really love it.’

  * * *

  As I pushed open the front door, I could hear Paul clattering about in the kitchen. Smiling, I dumped the bags, slipped off my coat and went and stood in the doorway. He didn’t look round.

  ‘Do we need to get more beers, do you think?’ I waited, amused.

  ‘Is that an actual question?’ His tone wasn’t pleasant.

  I took a few steps into the kitchen. ‘What’s the matter?’

  He ignored me, starting to wipe down a work surface that clearly didn’t need wiping.

  ‘Paul?’

  The cloth stopped, mid-arc. ‘Would you like to tell me about this?’ He turned and grabbed something but suddenly froze, paralysed for a moment, with a look of absolute horror in his eyes. ‘What the hell have you done?’

  I stepped back, steadying myself against th
e door frame.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off me. One hand instinctively came up to my neck. ‘I’ve had my hair cut.’ I knew I sounded lame.

  ‘Why would you do such a thing?’ He looked appalled.

  ‘I fancied a change,’ I tried to shrug it off. ‘And anyway, I thought you said I’d look good with shorter hair.’

  ‘I said I don’t like short hair, I never have.’

  ‘What?’ I pulled back. ‘This morning. You said—’

  ‘Sorry, I was under the impression that what I say doesn’t matter. Only now strangely, it suddenly does.’ He opened his fist and my little strip of silver contraceptive pills fell out.

  I looked down, not fully comprehending.

  ‘Is this yet another example of my irrelevance?’

  ‘I don’t get what—’

  ‘Don’t you?’ His hand came down on the worktop with such force I thought it might crack. He stood there leaning heavily with his head down, his jaw jutting in fury. ‘No. Clearly, you really don’t, do you?’

  I stared at him.

  ‘This packet.’

  ‘Yes,’ I looked down at it, not comprehending.

  ‘It’s full.’

  ‘Yes, I haven’t been taking them since we talked about it—’ My breath staggered high up into my chest.

  ‘Jesus!’ He gave a sudden bark of laughter. ‘Seriously? We talked about it,’ he mimicked angrily, his mouth crumpling into a sneer. ‘We talked about what?’

  I opened my mouth but his fury wouldn’t let me speak.

  ‘Let me ask you something and I’m really hoping you’re going to give me a truthful answer.’

  I could only stand there, dumb with shock.

  ‘Is this what you did with that Dan bloke?’

  My lips could barely form the word. ‘What?’

  ‘You heard. Did you think I wouldn’t find out about your grubby past?’

  My cheeks burned. I turned my face away. ‘I told you about that.’

  He gave a snort of derision. ‘No, you didn’t. Unfortunately I’ve had to find out from so-called colleagues. Strangers really. People who clearly enjoyed the fact that I had no fucking idea.’ He leaned forward, his face was ugly.