My Husband the Stranger

by Rebecca Done

  ‘I love you, Molly Frazer.’

  And then the disco fires up, everybody else piles on to the dance floor, my friends start twerking and that is pretty much that.

  We take a break from whirling around the dance floor at about eleven to refuel at the chocolate fountain, where I take the opportunity to apologize to Molly again for Dad’s speech. ‘I’m really sorry for all that stuff Dad said … about Norfolk and everything,’ I say. The topic’s already one I try to avoid around Moll since our misunderstanding the morning after our engagement.

  Molly shrugs good-naturedly, sticks a marshmallow under the stream of chocolate. ‘It’s okay. I was kind of expecting him to mention it. He goes on about it to me whenever we see him.’

  Just then one of Molly’s older cousins rounds the other side of the fountain, looking harassed and a bit upset.

  ‘Your brother needs a good talking-to, Alex.’ She tries to say it like she isn’t pissed off, like she knows that different rules apply at weddings – but the pink spots of heat on her cheeks and the way her mouth is twisting slightly give her away.

  I freeze, molten chocolate dripping from the skewer in my hand. ‘What’s he done?’ I ask her, almost afraid to find out.

  ‘He told Doug to eff off in front of the kids, so I suppose you could say he’s been teaching my children to swear.’ She sends a hot breath upwards into her damp-from-dancing fringe. ‘He’s taken them off to bed.’

  Graeme’s one of those people who claims his general lack of tact and self-restraint is simply a version of honesty, and therefore a trait to be admired. Generally I disagree, and I especially disagree tonight. Not long after reappearing from his extended bathroom break, I witnessed him engaging in a heated argument with one of my work colleagues about a champagne bottle he thought was his (it wasn’t), and I’m getting a bit annoyed that he seems to think it’s okay to behave like this, especially at my wedding.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell Molly’s cousin, wiping my mouth with a napkin. ‘I’ll go and talk to him.’

  I find him outside sitting on a low stone wall, staring miserably at the spot where only hours earlier Molly’s bridesmaids used sparklers to sky-write LOVE in the air as dusk sank in around us.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, plopping down next to him. It’s the first time we’ve actually had five minutes alone together all day.

  Behind us the music thumps on like a heartbeat, the long slope of manicured lawn at our feet falling into blackness where the glow from the dance floor fades. Above our heads, the sky is ablaze with stars.

  ‘I don’t know why I did that,’ he says eventually. A plastic pint glass dangles from his hand, its contents almost gone. ‘Swear in front of the kids, I mean.’

  I take a moment to inhale the scent from the roses lining the patio, then look across at my brother. He seems utterly dejected, which I suppose isn’t helped by his dishevelled appearance – shirt unbuttoned at the collar, pink tie removed, jacket long gone. Lost, probably. And he looks lost himself – so lost, in fact, that I decide here and now that the odd expletive in front of children at a wedding reception is probably nothing much to worry about in the grand scheme of things.

  ‘Hey, it’s all right,’ I say. ‘You can teach our children to swear, I promise. That can be your number-one job as uncle.’

  ‘Ha,’ he says flatly, before downing the last of his pint and crushing the plastic glass in his fist. For a moment I think he’s about to project it down the length of the lawn, but then he loosens his grip, looks across at me and tries a smile.

  ‘Great wedding, mate. Like really – top notch.’

  ‘Thanks, Gray.’

  ‘Moll looks beautiful.’

  ‘Yeah, she does. I mean, thanks.’

  There follows a pause, so I just come out with it.

  ‘Graeme, what’s wrong?’ I think I can guess, but I want Graeme to do the talking.

  ‘I think …’ he says after a pause, ‘I’m just sad.’

  I nod, let the night breeze float over us. ‘About what?’

  ‘Oh, you know,’ he says, then trails off.

  ‘Dad?’ I prompt.

  He turns his head towards me and for a moment our eyes meet before he looks down at his knees and smiles. ‘Yeah. I think it must be that, Alex.’

  For a moment I think I’ve got it wrong – that something else is upsetting him – but he carries on talking and I lose my train of thought.

  ‘His speech was a bit much,’ Graeme says.

  I nod. ‘I know. All that stuff about Norfolk, and then Mum … I saw you walk off.’

  ‘Couldn’t stick it. He was looking right at me as he said it too – did you see?’

  I try to recall, and now I come to think of it I do remember staring mostly at the back of Dad’s head as he was talking, but I’d just assumed he was addressing the room. ‘Of course he wasn’t, Gray. He wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘He bloody did. Couldn’t wait for his opportunity to stick the knife in.’

  ‘I thought you helped him with his speech. Didn’t you know he was going to talk about Mum?’

  ‘Nope. He never mentioned it.’ Graeme shakes his head. ‘You know, nothing I do is ever enough, Alex. Nothing I do will ever be enough, I can see that now. He’s always going to blame me and I may as well accept it. You’re always going to be the golden boy and I’m always going to be the defective son, the one who messed everything up, ruined his life. And yet – I’ve always tried to stand up for him, help him, compensate for everything that happened. I make excuses for him, give him the benefit of the doubt … and this is what he does to me.’ Graeme’s shoulders heave as he exhales, as if he’s getting ready to punch something, and then he looks across at me. ‘Do you blame me, Alex? For Mum?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I say, which is what I always say when he asks me this. ‘You were seven years old.’

  ‘I’d kind of convinced myself that Dad didn’t blame me either. I thought we’d reached a bit of a truce, especially since he got ill. But the way he looked at me while he was saying all the stuff about Mum … it was like he was saying, All this is your fault. It’s like he’s started blaming me all over again. Everything I do for him …’

  ‘Don’t, Gray,’ I say softly – but I only mean, Don’t torture yourself.

  Graeme snaps his face towards me, eyes by now glimmering with rage and injustice. ‘Oh, here we go. Jesus, Alex, you never want to talk about it.’

  I shake my head because he’s wrong, but in many ways he’s actually right. I exhale. ‘You know what? You’re right, Graeme, I don’t want to talk about it. But only because … it’s my wedding day. I’m supposed to be having the time of my life with Molly, not sitting down here talking about Mum with –’ I stop speaking abruptly, let the end of my sentence drop off into the night.

  ‘With me,’ Graeme says, then lets out a loose laugh. ‘You’re right, Alex. Why on earth would you want to be sitting down here with me on your wedding day?’

  ‘I didn’t mean –’

  But Graeme’s not interested. He nods back towards the house, where our guests are starting to spill out from the dance floor, drinks in hand, wrapped up in cardigans and jackets.

  ‘You’re my twin,’ I remind him, because in that moment it seems wholly significant – he’s my brother, we shared a womb, I will always love him. ‘I would never blame you for what happened. Never.’

  Graeme looks up at the sky. ‘It’s time for fireworks.’

  13

  Molly – present day

  It’s Friday night, a fortnight or so after I receive my written warning, and I’m meeting Eve for supper at our favourite pizza place in town – a rare treat since money became so tight. The restaurant’s packed out, but luckily, they have one small table left next to the steamed-up window.

  ‘God, it’s been too long,’ Eve says, after the waitress has brought our drinks. ‘Sorry I’ve been so hectic recently.’

  I shake my head, brush her apology aside with one hand.
‘I want to hear all about Isla’s first day.’ The kids started back at school this week, and after a comfortable few years at the village primary, Isla’s now moved up to the high school in a neighbouring town. Eve’s been pretending and failing to be cool about it all summer.

  ‘It was great,’ she says, sounding so relieved that her words all fall into themselves. ‘I had nothing to worry about at all. She just hung out with her normal friends like always, and when she got home she couldn’t stop raving about how big the playground is and all this fantastic gymnastics equipment they have. Plus, she was ridiculously excited about getting her own locker.’

  ‘Like mother, like daughter,’ I grin, for Eve is the queen of organization.

  Eve laughs, sips from her lemonade. ‘Stupid, isn’t it? I was more nervous than she was. A thirty-five-year-old woman loses the plot, her eleven-year-old holds it coolly together.’ She shakes her head. ‘Madness.’

  ‘It’s understandable,’ I say. ‘She’s your baby.’

  ‘God, tell me about it. She’s already started telling me to get off her when I go in for a hug. Tom says I smother them.’

  ‘You don’t,’ I assure her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she says doubtfully. ‘I always swore I’d never be that kind of mum. My mum was too clingy, too suffocating. Now I’m turning into her, Moll. I mean – look.’ She passes me her phone.

  I examine the photo of Isla in her new school uniform, standing stiffly in front of the yew tree in Eve’s back garden. The expression on Isla’s face is hilarious – it’s like a cartoon grimace and her whole body is contorted, as if she’s physically trying to flee this monstrous woman with the camera.

  I laugh. ‘She looks gorgeous.’

  Eve laughs too. ‘Yeah. It’s going to be hard to really let go, I can tell you that.’

  ‘You don’t ever really though, do you?’ I say, thinking how close I am to my own mum.

  ‘I guess not,’ she sighs. ‘But there’s going to come a time when she doesn’t need me any more. Can you imagine me then? You’ll have to check me into a facility.’

  ‘Ha. See you there,’ I say drily.

  Eve’s face drops a little. ‘How are things with you and Alex?’ she asks me more sombrely. ‘Did you get everything cleared up after the fire?’

  Inwardly I cringe, completely aware of how I’ve just (unintentionally) brought the conversation back round to myself. I hand Eve the phone back, swallowing the pang that always comes with being reminded that I might never experience motherhood, and all its associated highs and lows – everything I crave.

  ‘Yep,’ I nod, taking a sip from my ginger beer. ‘Graeme sent a guy round. We were worried about toxic fumes.’

  ‘That was good of him. And how’s everything at Spark?’ she asks me as the waitress arrives with our pizza. Both ravenous, we dig in straight away, tearing hunks of it off with our fingers, steam billowing from the tomato sauce, elastic cheese, shredded yellow peppers. The pizza here is so fresh, so good.

  ‘Keeping my head down,’ I say. ‘Or trying to, anyway. It’s pretty hard with Seb watching my every move, trying to trip me up.’

  ‘He shouldn’t try too hard,’ Eve says, shooting me a look. ‘There is such a thing as constructive dismissal, you know. If you feel like he’s trying to push you to breaking point – he probably is. That’s not legal.’

  I smile grimly, despite my delectable mouthful of dough and mozzarella. ‘Well, I’m pretty sure Seb knows I have neither the time nor the inclination to fight him in a court of law. Nor the money, come to that.’

  ‘Has Sarah said any more about that job at your old place? Maybe you should start thinking about having other irons in the fire, just in case.’

  Eve and I had lunch a few days after I met Sarah, when I confided to her what Sarah had said. I shake my head. ‘I told her no anyway, so …’

  ‘But have you thought any more about it?’

  I sling her a look. ‘You mean Project Annexe?’

  ‘You’re not in the least bit tempted?’

  For a moment, I stop chewing. ‘Should I be?’

  Eve shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes I think …’ She hesitates, sets down her pizza slice. ‘It’s hard to let people help sometimes, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s not pride, Eve,’ I say, remembering that Graeme said something very similar to me at the start of July. ‘It’s just that I know Alex, and I know it wouldn’t work, moving back to London.’

  ‘But you like the idea in principle?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Who wouldn’t? Living with Mum and Dad, my old job back, more money … but it’s not just about what I want, Eve. I have to think of Alex now.’

  ‘But it doesn’t ever seem to be about what you want, Molly.’

  I stare at her, pizza slice halfway to my mouth. A couple of vegetables slide off the edge, slopping messily back on to the plate. ‘Eve, what are you saying exactly?’

  ‘I just think maybe you should think about getting out of Norfolk. Here, it’s all about Alex. You’d have more of a balance in London.’

  ‘But Alex would hate it,’ I remind her. ‘You know this, Eve. What are you getting at?’

  There is a long pause, during which Eve pretends to finish chewing a mouthful she swallowed long ago. Eventually, to buy more time, she picks up her drink and takes a slug, then finally sets it down and meets my eye.

  ‘Tom saw Alex having lunch with Nicola yesterday.’

  ‘What?’ Eve and I have both been on high alert for the reappearance of Nicola since she accidentally-on-purpose dialled Alex a fortnight ago.

  ‘They were at the golf club. Tom was on a corporate day.’

  The world seems to grind to a halt, and I stare very hard at the wreckage of the pizza lying between us. The noise in the room seems to dull, like I’ve suddenly been plunged underwater.

  It takes me a few moments to find my voice. ‘He’s sure it was them?’ Alex claimed to have been alone in the cottage all day yesterday, though now I think about it, he did seem unusually tired last night.

  ‘Positive.’

  I have to accept this. You could hardly mistake Alex and Nicola – once a couple and both residents of the village since birth – for anyone else.

  ‘I didn’t know whether to say anything.’

  I swallow. ‘No, no, of course you should have done.’

  ‘Tom said … they were being very flirty.’

  This, from Tom, is bad news. He is not the sort of person who normally even indulges in idle gossip, let alone sticks his oar into other people’s business. He must be really worried.

  I shut my eyes. ‘How flirty is flirty?’

  ‘More flirty than you should be when you’re married.’

  ‘Kissing?’ I can hardly say the word.

  ‘God, no. I don’t think so. But Tom was pissed off enough about it to tell me.’

  ‘Did Tom say anything – to Alex?’

  ‘No, sweetie. I’m sorry. He was with clients, and you know what Alex … well, you know what he’s like. Tom couldn’t risk a scene.’

  Oh yes. I know all too well what Alex is like.

  And then the subtext comes to me. ‘Do you think I should leave Alex? Is that what you’re saying?’

  Eve reaches over and covers my hand with hers. It feels warm and comforting, like when my mum grasps my hand over her kitchen table as we dig into the last piece of carrot cake together. ‘No, Moll. That’s not what I’m saying at all. But maybe … you should think about bringing the balance back towards you slightly. At the moment, it’s all about Alex – and I get that, of course I do. I hope I’d do the same in your situation. But you never even wanted to leave London, not really – and all your support network is there.’

  I think about Mum and Dad, about Phoebe, and Sarah, and all my London friends.

  ‘You’ve been an unbelievable friend to me, Eve.’ I have to say it now, because it’s true.

  She smiles a thank you. ‘Look, why don’t you come and stay toni
ght? Tom’s taking the kids to a birthday party tomorrow, so I’ve got most of the morning free.’ Bless her, instead of taking time out for herself, Eve’s already thinking of ways she can help me out to ease the strain – or the shock.

  ‘Actually,’ I tell her, ‘I’m going to London tomorrow, staying with Mum and Dad for the night.’ I shake my head at the timing of it all. ‘A girl in my old agency, Libby – she’s moving to Singapore. It’s her leaving do.’

  Eve’s eyes widen. ‘And … will Sarah be there?’

  I nod. ‘She’s putting my entire weekend through on expenses.’

  Eve tries a smile. ‘Fortuitous.’

  I bite my lip, barely daring to agree. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Do you want me to look in on Alex tomorrow night?’

  ‘Thanks, but Charlie’s staying over.’ It’s not strictly necessary any more for someone to be with Alex at all times but, ever since the fire, I’ve started thinking you really can’t be too careful.

  ‘Look, Moll. In case you’re worried about Nicola … I’ve been thinking of having a word.’

  ‘No,’ I say straight away. ‘Don’t do that.’

  ‘Well, someone needs to tell her. She’s taking the piss, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  ‘I don’t mind you saying at all. But I need to talk to Alex first.’

  ‘Will he tell you the truth?’

  ‘Maybe not. But then Nicola’s hardly likely to either, is she, if she’s already meeting him for clandestine little lunches?’

  ‘Well, that’s what I mean. Maybe someone should warn her off.’

  I draw back slightly in my chair. ‘Threaten her?’

  ‘No! Of course not. But I’m certainly capable of putting her in her place.’

  I don’t doubt that, actually. ‘No, not yet. I’m going to try and find out what’s going on first. If you talk to her she might warn Alex and it could muddy the waters, stop me getting to the truth.’