The Forgotten Wife

by Emma Robinson

  A red dress? Shelley hadn’t bought a new dress in months, much less one in a colour that invited people to notice her. But she did as she was told and thumbed through the hangers on the nearest rail. ‘I’m not sure that I need anything new – or nearly new. There’s probably something in the wardrobe that would do.’

  Lara stuck her head out of the curtain. ‘But is there anything in your wardrobe that sparks joy?’ She raised an eyebrow and then her head disappeared again.

  Shelley couldn’t help but smile.

  Lara made it out of the changing cubicle and stood beside her, lowered her voice. ‘Tell me if I’m speaking out of turn, Shelley, but it might be time for you to get back out there. You may not feel like it now, but at some point you will want to meet someone new. You don’t have to be single forever.’

  Lara’s enthusiasm for life was infectious. But there was no way she was ready to get out in the world again. Just the thought of getting dressed up to go out made her feel a little queasy. Shelley opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a beep as someone opened the front door.

  A young woman came in, glanced around and approached the counter. ‘Excuse me. I don’t suppose you have any wedding dresses?’

  ‘Just a minute, love, I’ll ask.’ Bottle green cardigan lady held cupped hands to her mouth. ‘Sandra!’

  Sandra appeared in the doorway with a giant rabbit in one hand and a pile of CDs in the other. ‘Did you call me?’

  ‘Yes. Do we have any wedding dresses?’

  ‘No. We had a couple in last month but they got snapped up immediately. Always do. Is it for you?’

  The young woman nodded.

  ‘I can take your name and give you a call if anything comes in. When’s the wedding?’

  The girl blushed. ‘Not until next year but I’m trying to get organised – we’re on a pretty strict budget. Yes, please, I’ll give you my mobile number.’

  As Sandra bustled back to the stockroom to get a pen, Shelley realised that Lara was looking at her intently. Was she suggesting that Shelley bring her wedding dress in? She shook her head at her. It was still too soon to face that.

  23

  Shelley

  Before

  When they had been planning their wedding, Shelley had had three non-negotiables: a white dress, proper speeches and a first dance to ‘Crazy for You’.

  It would have been nice to have lots more guests, a proper wedding breakfast and a bit more razzmatazz, but it was Greg’s wedding too – she reminded herself frequently – and if he wanted something quieter and more intimate, so be it. His mother had helped her to find a venue and caterers, and Shelley’s mum had seemed happy to take a back seat – Greg’s parents had much more experience in organising social events. They had also pushed for something more formal but Greg had been firm with them: small and intimate. Her new mother-in-law’s efforts hopefully meant that she had accepted Shelley as good enough for her son. Even if her face had still to show evidence of that.

  Dee had also been a great help, which was a relief. She hadn’t seemed too keen on the idea of them getting married, but once she’d got her head round it, she’d been a wonder. Coming with Shelley to look at wedding dresses, choosing flower arrangements for the church, looking at – and tasting – options for wedding cakes, finding a hog roast for the evening.

  Greg was right: what was the point of paying out lots of money for a three-course meal when no one wanted to be stuck at a table with people they didn’t know making small talk? It was better to have a buffet where guests could mingle as they wished, eat and then get on with enjoying themselves. The quicker the food was over, the quicker the dancing could start. And the quicker it would be over. That was the subtext. It was normal for most grooms to want to get the wedding over, wasn’t it? As he’d said, it was the marriage that was important, not the day. He was only doing this for her.

  Dee had helped her get dressed this morning. Her mum had been there too, but the buttons up the back of her dress were too fiddly for her mum’s fingers. When she’d turned around to face them, they had both cried at the sight of her in bridal finery. Just the reaction she’d been hoping for.

  ‘You do look beautiful, Shelley. Like a proper grown-up woman.’

  Shelley had laughed; she knew what Dee meant. While Dee had spent the last year travelling and musing about what to do next, Shelley had gone straight into working at a local travel agency after finishing her travel and hospitality course. It was only a first step: she was hoping to get a job working in corporate travel – it sounded so sophisticated. They had joked that Shelley was booking holidays while Dee was on a permanent one. Shelley didn’t mind; with Dee away, there wasn’t the difficulty of splitting her time between her and Greg.

  Now her mum had left for the church and Dee was downstairs with the other bridesmaids, waiting for the bridal car. Back in her childhood bedroom, which was now a guest bedroom coordinated within an inch of its life, she stood in front of the mirror, turning this way and that, looking at her dress. Dee had paid for someone to do her hair and make-up as a wedding gift. It was one of the only times in her life she’d felt truly beautiful. This was her day.

  ‘All ready, love?’ Her dad poked his head in the doorway, clearly uncomfortable in the house he’d not lived in for the best part of two decades.

  She beckoned him in. ‘Nearly there, just noticed a stray hair I need to tame.’ She caught it with a kirby grip and patted it into place. ‘Done.’

  ‘Well, you look beautiful.’ He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed it under his eyes. ‘Really beautiful.’

  She turned and smiled. ‘Thanks, Dad. You look very handsome in your suit.’

  He smoothed his hair down. It was greying and receding. ‘Aye, well. I’m just glad you and Greg didn’t go in for all that top hat malarkey. I would have felt a right picture in one of those.’ Someone else who was pleased that the wedding was simple. It clearly was a man thing.

  ‘You look great.’

  He sat down on the bed, watching her as she turned her body this way and that in front of the full-length mirror. ‘Listen, love. I know I haven’t been the best of dads.’

  She looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked genuinely sorry. ‘Not now, Dad. You’re going to make my make-up run.’ She smiled, trying to lighten the moment.

  But he was intent on getting his point across. ‘Please, let me just say this. After me and your mother split up, I know I wasn’t very good at staying in touch. I should have made more effort, come to see you, but life gets busy. You know how it is.’

  You were too busy with your new girlfriend. That’s what Shelley wanted to say, but her wedding morning wasn’t the time to get into this. ‘Dad, honestly. It’s fine. Me and mum were all right.’

  He seemed to get the message. ‘Yes. Your mother is a good woman. Better than me, eh?’

  Shelley didn’t want to talk about it now, or even think about it. That part of her life was over. She was marrying Greg and starting something new. She held out her hands. ‘Will I do?’

  Her father smiled. ‘You look perfect.’ He held out his arm for her to slip her hand through. ‘Shall we?’

  * * *

  The wedding ceremony had been full of moments she would treasure. Greg’s face as she joined him at the front of the church, the laughter when she’d struggled to get his ring onto his finger, the feel of his hand between her shoulder blades as they had their first kiss as man and wife.

  Then it was all over – the bells had rung, confetti had been thrown and they’d arrived at the hall for their reception. Greg had gripped her hand tightly the whole time. ‘It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere,’ she’d whispered.

  He’d kissed her cheek and smiled at her. ‘Make sure you don’t.’

  People had warned her that her wedding day would go by quickly, but she hadn’t realised how quickly. Even with a smaller gathering, there always seemed to be someone else they needed to talk to, or a photograph
to pose for. And then there had been the cutting of the cake, the speeches, the first dance. Greg had held her close as Madonna sang ‘Crazy for You’ – as promised – and he hadn’t rolled his eyes once at her choice of song. In fact, his eyes had looked deeply into hers as if no one else existed. It had been magical.

  After that, she’d danced with her father at the insistence of Greg’s mother – apparently it was tradition – which had been rather wooden and awkward. But Greg had danced with Dee at the same time, and it had made her smile to see them getting along so well. Laughing and joking, then twirling each other round. She’d hoped someone was taking photographs – she could use them to prove to them later how much they loved each other really. She’d barely spoken to Dee all day; who knew you got so little time with your chief bridesmaid?

  Later in the evening, she finally caught up with her, chatting with some of their old school friends at the bar. ‘Thank God, there you are.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Can you help me pee?’

  Shut in the cubicle together, they giggled as Shelley hoisted up yards of satin and kind of threw it forwards for Dee to catch. ‘Okay, I am sitting… now!’

  This wasn’t the first time they had been in a toilet cubicle together, but possibly the first time when Shelley was sober. People had been buying her drinks all afternoon but she had no idea where they kept disappearing to. She would swear she hadn’t had more than a few sips of Prosecco.

  Dee, though, definitely looked like she’d been making nice with a good few glasses. ‘Have you enjoyed your day? Has everything gone as you wanted?’

  Maybe not exactly what she’d originally wanted but it had gone as planned. ‘Yes. All good. Except I’ve barely seen my best friend and chief bridesmaid.’

  Dee hiccupped, put her hand to her mouth, dropped some of the dress and stooped to gather it up again. ‘That’s because your new husband hasn’t let go of you all day.’

  Was she going to be funny again? Best to just laugh it off. ‘Well, I am quite a catch, you know.’

  Dee nodded. ‘You are. He’s a lucky man. I hope he realises that.’

  If only she could make Dee see that he did realise that. The way she spoke sometimes, you would think Greg had abducted Shelley, not that they had just fallen in love. She understood that it was difficult for Dee, but it was time to move this on. ‘Right. Mission Wee accomplished. I’ll stand, you drop my dress.’

  Once they had navigated their way out of the cubicle, Shelley washed her hands as Dee reapplied her lipstick in the mirror. ‘The colour of your dress really suits you. That plum satin looks lovely on your skin.’

  Dee turned with her hands on her hips. ‘Of course it does. That’s why I chose it.’ She gave a little wiggle.

  Shelley laughed. She loved her so much. Dee had been such a big part of her life for so long. It had been hard when they’d gone to separate universities, even harder when Shelley had moved in with Greg. But that was life – things had to change, didn’t they? A sob rose unbidden in her throat. ‘Thanks for all your help with everything. I’m not sure I could have got everything organised without you.’

  ‘Hey, you, don’t get all teary on me.’ Dee put her arms out and they squeezed each other tightly. ‘I loved helping. I love you, you soppy woman.’

  Shelley sniffed as they let each other go. Grabbing some tissues from the box on the vanity unit – Greg’s mother had thought of everything – she dabbed under her eyes to make sure her mascara didn’t run. ‘Look, nothing is going to change, you know. Between us, I mean.’

  Dee took the tissue from her and took over the dabbing. ‘I know that. I just… well, I just want you to be happy.’

  That nearly started Shelley off again. Maybe she had drunk more than she realised. ‘I am happy. Very happy. We both are.’

  Dee stopped dabbing and looked her in the eye. ‘I just…’

  The toilet door opened and strains of ‘Dancing Queen’ followed Auntie Beryl inside. Shelley grabbed Dee’s hand. ‘Come on. They’re playing our song.’

  24

  Lara

  ‘Art is subjective. What is beautiful to one person can be quite ordinary to another. When deciding whether to keep a picture, sculpture or work of art, you must always come back to the same decision. Ask yourself: does this bring me joy?’

  Lara stopped reading, lowered Make Way for Joy and looked at Shelley. For the last ten minutes, she had been tugging three frames from the side of the wardrobe, where they seemed to have been wedged, refusing any help that Lara offered. It was probably for the best; Lara had zero strength today. Around month four, when the sickness had stopped, she had felt really well. Surely she couldn’t yet be past the ‘blooming’ period that everyone talked about?

  Now most of the boxes had been emptied and any unwanted contents dropped off to the charity shop yesterday, this room was coming back to itself: it actually looked like somewhere you could invite a guest to stay. Though there was still work to do, it was a far cry from the junkyard it had been the first time Lara had seen it, when it had been so full that a frame had fallen out and hit her on the head. These last few weeks had gone quickly; it wasn’t just the room that had changed. Who could have predicted that her quiet, buttoned-down neighbour would become the person she most wanted to spend time with?

  They had almost missed the paintings altogether; they were hidden so far back. At least, Lara had missed them. She had her suspicions that Shelley had been trying to ignore them. Finally, with a grunt, Shelley managed to pull them free. ‘This is the sum total of our art collection, I think.’

  After all the work they’d already done, the floor space was pretty much clear, so Shelley had laid the first two frames flat so they could appraise them. Stark and modern, framed in chrome, bold, bright paint strokes filled the white background and challenged any onlookers. There was something powerful about them, very masculine. ‘These are striking.’

  Shelley folded her arms. ‘I hate them. Greg had them in his old office and they came back here when he moved to another company. They never matched the décor anywhere in the house, so they’ve just been stuck up here. Like hostages.’

  Hostages? That was an odd comparison. Not for the first time, Lara wondered if there was a reason that Shelley still had so many of Greg’s belongings. Was she hoping to use them somehow? Was there something she wanted from him? Did she still want him?

  Lara gave that idea some serious consideration. It was odd that Shelley hadn’t told her why Greg had left. Apart from his name, some photographs and a few random memories, Lara knew very little about him. Up until now, it had not felt like something she should question, but now they were closer, perhaps she could ask? Shelley had admitted how much better she felt after offloading her old clothes. How much happier might she feel offloading about their split? It wasn’t as if she was the one who had anything to be ashamed of, was it? Or did she not want Lara to think badly of Greg, in case he came back? Where was he? And who with?

  Shelley was still holding the third frame, leaning it against her legs so that Lara couldn’t see the picture. Lara pointed at it. ‘Are you going to lay that one down, too?’

  Tilting it backwards so that she could look at it, Shelley narrowed her eyes. After a few moments, she took a deep breath and placed it between the other two. ‘There you go.’

  Completely different in style from Greg’s two corporate pictures, this was a portrait. Quite traditional. Two young girls of around eleven or twelve, one of whom – even with much darker hair – was undoubtedly Shelley. Lara could guess who the other one was. ‘Is that you and Dee?’

  ‘Yes.’ Shelley stared at the painting for a few moments. ‘This was my Christmas present two years ago. Dee painted it from a photograph of us when we were first friends.’ She swallowed. Bit her lip.

  The girls in the photograph were smiling, possibly laughing. Almost mirror images of each other in their hairstyle and clothes. At that age, all girls want to look just like their friends; Lara could remember her own paren
ts complaining how she and her friends all looked the same. Individuality came later, like self-confidence.

  From the few things Shelley had told her, Lara knew that she and Dee had been very close friends. Something pretty major must have happened to split them apart. If this gift was from two years ago, that had to have been pretty recent. Cogs started to turn in Lara’s brain; suspicions got stronger, but she would need to tread carefully. ‘It’s a great painting. Is she a professional artist?’

  Shelley looked up, her face proud. ‘A graphic designer. Incredibly talented. She’s worked on some pretty big campaigns. She doesn’t paint very often these days. At least, she didn’t. This was a special project. It took her weeks.’

  Lara didn’t know much about painting, but there looked to be a lot of love in this portrait. The girls in the painting were laughing, happy, close. What had happened twenty years later to split them apart? Although Dee’s name seemed to come up a lot in conversation, Shelley had skirted around the subject of why they were no longer friends so many times. Surely they were close enough now for Lara to ask… ‘Why don’t you see her anymore?’

  Shelley took a deep breath, still staring at the painting on the floor. ‘We… fell out. Something happened and… we just lost touch.’

  Greg and Dee had both disappeared from Shelley’s life at the same time. Her husband and her best friend. It didn’t take a detective to work out what that something was. No wonder she’d been living the life of a hermit when Lara had first moved in. And that would explain why she’d cut herself off from most of her friends too; she was embarrassed to see them. Poor Shelley. ‘You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to. But does Dee have something to do with Greg leaving?’