by Annie Dyer
When she’d climbed into bed, she’d been exhausted, so I’d just tucked myself around her and fallen asleep with her in my arms, waking up in pretty much the same position, only her first word was ‘shit’. She’d forgotten to set her alarm, and as I didn’t have anywhere to be until midday, I hadn’t set mine.
So at seven am, all hell had broken lose.
It was now eight forty-five and I was quite enjoying the quiet. I’d gone from living by myself to living with a woman. Living with a woman, I’d discovered, was rather like walking over a minefield every day, only the mines were always in different places.
“Why are you in here?”
I jumped, almost slipped and cursed loudly. “Imogen?”
“Well who else would it be?”
I turned the shower off and looked around the tiled wall – it was a walk-in shower that was tiled as opposed to glass, meaning it was impossible to tell if your wife was sneaking up on you.
“I thought you had a meeting.”
“Had it. I’d done most of the prep last night, so I was able to brief Max and Georgia. Why are you in here?” Her tone was brusque, which put me automatically on edge.
We’d had a couple of rows – more disagreements – and I’d noticed the tone of her voice would change before she was about to commence battle. That tone was there now.
“I wasn’t sure I wanted to face your wrath by moving your stuff around, so I came in here.” I immediately regretted my choice of the word ‘wrath’.
Imogen’s hands went to her hips, her curls taking on the form of Medusa’s hair.
“I don’t get mad when you move my stuff around! I was fine last week when you moved my book and lost my page. I had no idea where I was up to, but did I had have go? No. Now you’re pissed off that my stuff’s in your bathroom so you act all passive aggressive and move out…”
“Woah, woah.” I grabbed my towel and slung it round my hips. This was not a conversation to have when naked. “I wasn’t being passive aggressive. I just didn’t want to move your make-up and shit…”
“It isn’t shit, and I know it was messy. I was in a rush this morning and you…”
I felt a jolt of annoyance. “And how is you being in a rush my fault? It wasn’t me who forgot to set your alarm. And I don’t care if you leave your shit everywhere. I can use another room – it isn’t like we don’t have loads of them!”
“But you’ll just joke to your brothers or Zeke that I’m basically making you move out of your own house like you did at the weekend about the cushions! I was so embarrassed! I know this is yours and I’m never going to take it off you but…”
“What the fuck, Imogen? I did not joke that you were making me move out! I don’t give a shit about cushions. You live here!”
“I don’t though do I? This is all just fucking temporary.” She picked up a towel off the radiator and lobbed it to the floor before storming out.
I didn’t go after her. Instead I got back into the shower, threw my towel onto the radiator, and carried on showering, the blast of the water helping to calm me down.
I wasn’t a person who argued. I solved arguments, I didn’t make them worse, but that was exactly what had just happened.
Drying off quickly, I pulled on sweats and a T, heading downstairs to the kitchen, which was where Imogen liked to be if she was at home in the morning.
She was there as predicted, sat at the table, staring at her laptop with a mug of coffee in her hand. She didn’t look at me as I walked in, but I didn’t think it was because she was engrossed in her work.
I sat down at the table after pouring a coffee for myself.
“Can I have five minutes of your time?” I didn’t look at her, keeping my eyes on my fingers.
She closed her laptop. “Yes. Of course.” She sounded calmer.
“Your make-up stuff all over the bathroom really gets on my nerves.” I let the statement hang there for a moment.
“That’s because you’re anally retentive with tidiness.”
“I know. I don’t dispute that. But I’ve lived by myself for too long to change that and I like being tidy. But you don’t get on my nerves.”
She half-laughed. “That’s like Georgia telling Rose ‘I like you but I don’t like your behaviour.’”
“Pretty much. But neither of us are at fault here. The easiest solution is for us to use different bathrooms. You don’t have to keep everything ordered and I don’t get cranky when your shit’s everywhere.” I took a good mouthful of my coffee.
Imogen nodded, slowly. “But I feel like I’m kicking you out of your own space.”
I laughed and shook my head. “This is your home. You live here.” And I was hoping it would be a permanent thing, I just hadn’t managed to find the words to tell her yet, because part of me thought it was too soon.
She nodded. “I’ll have the smaller bathroom.”
“No. You like having baths. I don’t, unless you’re in there with me.” I gave her a grin that I knew was dirty.
Her face broke into a wide smile, and she nodded. “Okay. I still feel bad.”
I shrugged. “I’ll let you make that up to me.”
Imogen got off her seat and walked round to me, her hands straight on my shoulders. I grabbed hold of her, moving the chair out and her straight onto my knee, giving her a kiss that was sweet.
“Why are you home? Not that I’m not glad you’re here.”
She returned the kiss. “Seph burned toast and set the sprinkler system off in the kitchen and the downstairs offices. We’re all working from home while it gets sorted.”
I nodded. I knew her family well enough by now that this all made perfect sense. “When’s Seph’s funeral?”
She shrugged. “Ask me when I’ve made it up to you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Imogen
I was thirty-one and living with someone for the first time, the someone being the man I’d married as a kind of favour. I hadn’t had trial runs with douchebag boyfriends, or even had a man as a roommate, so I knew I could cut myself some slack. Noah wasn’t horrendous either; the pros far, far outweighed any cons. He made me a cup of tea every morning. He was very, very tidy. He didn’t snore. He wasn’t obsessed with computer games. He could cook. He gave extremely good orgasms but also knew when I really did need to sleep.
I’d moaned about him to Georgia, about small things, such as how he would fold up clothes I left on the bedroom floor, unless he’d been the one to take them off me and throw them there, or how he never, ever thought to put a toilet seat down.
She’d sat there and laughed. Hard. Then she’d shaken her head and changed the topic of conversation to her wedding that was coming up fast, and involved one very excited daughter and one very excited Seph.
I was looking at Georgia’s wedding Pinterest board at the ideas for bridesmaid dresses she’d been adding, while drinking a mug of chai tea at my favourite coffee shop, just around the corner from the offices. I had about an hour before a meeting with a client, and for the first time this week, I’d decided to treat myself to a break. I’d texted Noah, confirming I could go with him on Friday to an event he was attending – it was a new gallery that his friend Zeke was displaying at, because Zeke was some tortured artist, who was apparently quite good. Something that killed Catrin to admit.
“Imogen! I wondered if I’d see you in here!”
I looked up from my phone to see Shona, the woman who I was pretty sure had slept with Shay at my wedding. I hoped, prayed even, that he’d made it really clear he didn’t do repeats and she wasn’t hoping to get a second go at him through me.
“Hi.” I tucked my phone away, knowing she was going to sit down with me. She held a hot drink and a cake, putting them down on the table. “How are you?”
“I’m good. My mother showed me some of your wedding photos – they were beautiful. You must be very pleased with them. So how’s married life?” She smiled brightly, but I didn’t find it warm.
&nbs
p; Her mother was friends with Lady S, which made sense her seeing the photos. “It’s going well. All back to normal now with work though.”
“It must be hard. You have such a busy career, and now all these pressures to support Noah with his charitable work. How do you manage it? I can barely manage what little I have to do.” She took a delicate forkful of her cake.
Not going to lie: I had cake envy.
“We work as a team. Noah understands what my career involves, and I know what’s important to him.” And that was all the answer she was getting. This felt very much like a fishing exercise.
“Oh, Noah’s amazing, isn’t he? He’s always been so laid back. Lady Soames mentioned that you’d not been able to go to his fundraiser at The Holtom – that must’ve been disappointing for both of you. It was such a great evening though. Noah managed to find time for us to catch up.” She gave me a beautiful smile.
One I would quite happily wipe off her face.
“He didn’t mention seeing you. I had a mediation that day that ran on. Unfortunately, as an officer of the court, I have quite a lot of responsibilities. Noah picked me up after it’d finished.”
She smiled again. “I mentioned to Noah that if you were unavailable, and he needed someone to accompany him, I could be available. Of course, that was if you didn’t mind. It would be nice for us to get together too – Noah and I used to be quite close and I’d love for us to have that friendship again, the three of us.” She laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m garbling, and you hardly know me. I thought you looked beautiful at your wedding by the way.”
Most brides do was what I wanted to say, but I put a stopper on any cattiness. “Thank you.”
“It was so good of you to do that, marry him as a favour.”
What. The. Very. Fuck.
“Excuse me?”
“Your brother told me. That Noah had been dumped by his ex, and he really needed to get married, and you offered to help. That was so noble of you.”
I took a deep breath. My brother was a gifted doctor and a pillar of the medical community. Murdering him was not an option. Murdering the person who told Shay might be though. I suspected Maven.
“Don’t worry. I haven’t said anything to anyone else. Your secret is safe with me. I know all about what Society is like and better than anyone how important it is to be discreet. Maybe I can talk you through who’s who some time? Over drinks?” She sat back in her chair, completely oblivious to the bomb she’d just dropped.
“How do you know Noah?” I decided to back pedal, then I could get away with denying nothing.
She pushed her dark brown hair out of the way. She was pretty, her skin glowing, make-up perfect. She’d have been a perfect contender as a wife for Noah.
“Through our mothers. We saw each other at various parties when we were children.”
“How come you didn’t go to our school?” She definitely hadn’t been there. I suspected Shona was a couple of years younger than me, which would have put her in Cat’s year.
She shrugged. “I went to St. Kitty’s. It had a really good music programme, and I wanted to push myself with the piano and develop my French.”
Both of these were lovely things for young ladies to do, but it also told me she didn’t pass the exam to get into the same school as Noah and I, which had been selective.
“Did you go to university?”
She shook her head. “No. It wasn’t necessary and I wanted to help at home with the estate and become actively involved in the charities we support. I wanted to see what we could do around music, in particular funding scholarships for children to have music lessons.”
This time my smile was genuine. “My mother’s involved in a similar project in New York. She played violin.”
“Oh.” Shona sounded surprised. “Maybe we could link up. What’s your mother called?”
Someone clearly hadn’t done her homework. “Lynsey Omelchenko.”
Shona looked like she was trying to lift her eyebrows. “I’ve seen her perform. She was amazing. I didn’t realise she was your mother.” There was a little laugh. “Can I ask why you’re still working then? You mustn’t need to – financially, I mean.”
I blinked a couple of times, trying to work out exactly why I was having this conversation.
“I’m really good at my job. I enjoy it and I like being financially independent. That means something to me, that when I treat myself I’ve earned it.” I breathed in deeply. “Not that I don’t admire the charity work you do – that’s a job you don’t get paid for.” Because I got that too. I’d just been asked to sit on the board of a local charity that supported cancer patients and their families. It was a volunteer role, that was an amount of time I could commit to, and I felt honoured to have been asked. If I could help, I would.
Shona nodded, eating the last of her cake. “That’s fair enough.” Her phone rang. “Sorry, I have to get this. Be right back.”
She headed off outside to take the call. I drained the rest of my latte and left before she returned, scrawling a note on a napkin – Work emergency – we’ll catch up more soon!
I didn’t leave my number.
It was Friday night. I should’ve been wearing a new green dress that had an amazing slit up the side which I knew would make Noah’s eyes pop when he saw it, and a pair of nude sandals that I’d sensibly already broken in.
But I was at work. If something was going to go wrong, it was inevitable it would be on a Friday evening, when I had something planned. If my colleagues could, they’d block out Friday afternoons with something easy, or book half a day’s holiday, because everyone knew it was a danger time. If something urgent came through on a Friday, that could be your evening and most of your weekend gone.
It had happened today.
Three fifty-five. A panicked call from a director at a hospital came through. The company that supplied crucial software to them were threatening to terminate the contract and stop the service, which would have a catastrophic effect. It was one of those holy fuck moments, one of those times when I was half glad and half regretting my specialism in contract law, and before the clock hit four fifteen, I was “balls deep” in trying to get an injunction. Not an easy thing on a Friday afternoon when everyone you need is either ‘with a client’ or ‘is on leave’.
When it hit six, and we were nowhere near where we needed to be, any hope of being at the opening with Noah on time were dwindling faster than a cocktail in the hands of my sisters.
At six-thirty, I managed to text Noah, letting him know I wouldn’t be there on time, but I was hoping to get there at some point.
At eight-thirty, I was cursing every computer geek I’d ever met, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that I wasn’t going to be leaving the office before midnight.
It was eleven thirty-three precisely when the injunction was signed off. Eli and I jumped around the office, high fiving and even climbing on the desks, because this had been nothing short of a minor miracle. The hospital would be fine, until Tuesday at least, and we had Monday to remedy the rest of it.
But my evening was fucked.
I checked my phone. There were half a dozen text messages from Noah.
Hope you’re okay. Call that pizza place you like – I set up an account for you.
Your sister and Zeke have managed to have a disagreement in front of everyone. You might need bail money.
How’s things? Going to be an earlier night here. Probably only another hour left.
Do you want me to pick you up? Hope it’s going well.
I’m at home – will wait up for you.
I slumped to the desk, any euphoria at the injunction evaporating.
“You okay?” Eli looked at me, concerned. “I’m going to head off – Ava’s morning sickness seems to kick in about now and…”
“Head off. I’m fine. I’ll get an Uber home.” I wasn’t dragging Noah out now. “Give my love to Ava.”
He nodded. “Noah will get it, you know. He’s n
ot stupid.”
“I know. See you Monday.” I watched him leave, sending Noah a quick text to say I was on my way.
Eli nodded, still looking concerned, which meant I’d have a phone call from Ava at some point tomorrow.
I didn’t want to talk about it with anyone. My reason for the agreement was to find out whether I could do marriage. Whether the grass was greener in the field where so many of my family were. I knew they all worked at their relationships. I saw how knackered they were after evenings and weekends of parenting, but I’d still envied it. Yet I loved my job and I didn’t know how to choose what to put first.
Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this. I was meant to be a career woman, focusing on just that.
But where did that leave Noah? I was still in love with him, and it was growing rather than diminishing. But was Shona right – he needed someone to support him. I hadn’t agreed to be the Society wife, and he’d never asked, but wasn’t that what he was ultimately going to want?
I was lost in my thoughts throughout the journey home, feeling something in my chest start to crack and fracture. When I got out of the car, Noah’s front door opened – he’d been waiting for me, and he stood there smiling, holding a mug of tea.
A new mug. One with writing on it.
Mrs Imogen Soames.
I burst into tears.
“So what did Noah say?” Catrin didn’t look up at me. She was multitasking; sorting photos into piles and listening to my post-mortem of the night before.
I shrugged. “That was it. There was nothing for me to be sorry about; it was my job and all I missed was you and Zeke having yet another argument.”
“Hmmm.” Catrin was the star student at avoiding elaborating when she was trying to hide something.
“Cat,” I started. “Is Zeke still alive.”
She looked up, confused. “I last saw him getting into his chauffeur driven car thing to be taken back to the lair. He looked perfectly alive then. Unfortunately.” She put the last picture in a pile. “You’re overreading this. Noah goes to loads of events. Before you were together, he went to most on his own. He doesn’t need arm candy, Imo, he’s candy enough.”