My One Month Marriage

by Low, Shari

  See who is interested in you, demanded the notification. No doubt it was yet another married guy who just fancied a fling on the side. Or someone looking for a late-night booty call. It really was time she took Veronica from Glasgow off this app and shut the whole thing down. It was getting ridiculous, and more than that, it had been entirely pointless. But again, what else was she going to do for the next couple of minutes? May as well have a look.

  Back to the screen. Okay, go on, tell me what weirdo has the hots for me now.

  She pressed the notification.

  And there it was.

  One new match.

  Edward Merton.

  29

  Yvie – Last Christmas at Marina’s Home

  ‘I do like your jumper dear. Very… unusual.’ Graham’s mother was the master at giving a compliment, while her tone made it absolutely clear she thought the opposite.

  Yvie cast her eyes downwards, aware that her attire was ludicrous. Two huge green glittery baubles strategically applied on to a bright red sweatshirt, so that one was over each boob. It had seemed like a hilarious idea when she and Kay had spotted it in the new boutique in the High Street a few weeks before, but they had clearly overlooked the fact that lunchtime Prosecco had been imbibed before the shopping trip. This morning, she’d been in such a rush and knackered after a night shift at the hospital that she hadn’t given it much thought. Now she looked at Zoe, with her gorgeous white sweater, at Verity, who looked spectacular in a divine red dress, and Marina, in a stunning emerald jumpsuit, and she realised she was the joke. The comedy act. She felt a wave of absolute crapness drag her down. She was drowning.

  ‘Well, I like it, Auntie Yvie!’ Annabelle assured her.

  ‘Thank you, my love,’ Yvie said, reaching over to the seat next to her to kiss Annabelle on the cheek. ‘That’s all that matters to me. Oscar?’

  ‘Yeah…’

  ‘Oscar, don’t say “yeah”,’ Marina chided him. ‘It’s ‘yes’.’

  Oscar took another stab at it and Yvie felt bad for getting him into trouble. Marina really needed to chill out sometimes.

  ‘Yes. You look, like, super cool.’ He let that one trail away and Yvie thought Marina was going to have a hissy fit. She shot her nephew a wink. They had their moments, but they were great kids, these two, and she loved them dearly.

  And she was fairly sure they didn’t give a crap about what she wore or how she looked.

  However, right now, that wasn’t making her feel any better.

  She knew things had to change. The weight. The stress. Just always being knackered. But she felt like she couldn’t even get her head above water for long enough to breathe, let alone pull herself out of this cycle of anxiety, indulgence, regret, fear, panic and exhaustion.

  So, instead, she forced her face into a smile. ‘Thank you! It was either this design or one with two elves engaged in activities that I’m not sure are appropriate for a family dinner,’ she joked, setting Annabelle and Oscar off on gales of giggles and breaking the tension around the table.

  She had no idea what was going on today. Verity had barely said a word since she did the full-scale faint in the kitchen, Marina was sitting at one end of the table with a face that was completely devoid of festive joy, her mother was trying to overcompensate for the weird atmosphere by being ridiculously jolly and attentive to Nigel, the yoga guru, who, in turn, was calling her Cupcake and had just suggested that they spend Boxing Day doing a colon cleanse. If Marina didn’t punch him by the end of the night, it would be a Christmas miracle.

  In fact, given that Graham and his parents never exactly radiated excitement, and the kids were probably just dying to get away from the table so that they could go and Snapchat their pals, the only people in this whole gathering who were radiating the joy of the season were Zoe and Ned. And she was pretty sure she wasn’t the only one who noticed that right now Ned had his arm slung protectively around the back of Zoe’s chair and was using his thumb to gently stroke the back of her neck.

  The burst of anxiety came from nowhere, starting in her gut, rising, spreading, making her nerve endings shoot to the surface of her skin. Oh God, no. Not now. Please don’t do this. Her legs began to tingle, ignoring her pleas. She knew the only way to have a chance of stopping this was to get up and get out of there for a few minutes, to head it off before it escalated into something that there would be no hiding.

  ‘I’m just going to grab my phone from the kitchen – just realised I told the ward I’d keep it on in case they need me.’

  ‘I’ll get it for you,’ Marina offered, beginning to rise from her chair.

  Yvie bolted up even faster, nudging the table and causing all the glasses to rattle. Thankfully nothing spilled, but she felt her heart rate shoot up a few more notches. ‘No, no, it’s fine. I’ll be two seconds.’

  ‘These young ones and their phones,’ her mother interjected, and for once Yvie was oh so grateful for Marge’s need to have a condescending opinion on everything. ‘Nigel is always saying that one day we’ll discover the radiation from them has been destroying all our brains. He won’t have one in the house, will you, my pumpkin?’ On top of the increasing panic, Marge’s sickly, adoring tone was causing Yvie to experience the urge to roll her eyes and vomit. And she’d thought her mildly inappropriate glittery chest balls were going to be her biggest problem today.

  In the kitchen, she went straight to the sink by the window, leaning on it with both hands, staring into Marina’s perfect, picture book garden to give herself something to focus on.

  Come on. You’ve got this. Just breathe. You’re fine. You’re fine. You’re fine.

  Her body finally responded, her beating heart slowing, the pressure inside her chest subsiding, her shaking hands becoming still. She had it. She was fine. She could do this. She could breathe.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  She hadn’t even heard him come in behind her, but now, just by sliding her eyes to the side, she could see Ned standing there, a few feet away, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Just feeling a bit dizzy,’ she managed to say in a semi-normal voice. ‘Happens sometimes when I’ve come off a night shift. Just lack of sleep.’

  He nodded, then walked towards her, put the empty wine bottle he was carrying down on the worktop next to her, and leaned forward so he could see her face.

  ‘Can I get you anything?’

  There was concern in his voice, and Yvie couldn’t help wonder if it was fake. Actually, she’d been wondering for a long, long time if everything about Ned Merton was fake. Her pulse quickened again and she fought to control it.

  He was standing right next to her now, leaning back against the quartz worktop so that he was facing the opposite way to her, into the centre of the room. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Can I stop you?’ she shot back, knowing what was coming and fairly sure any objections she had wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference.

  She was right.

  He just carried on speaking. ‘You’ve never said anything to Zoe about what happened that night I went out with you and your friend. And, don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad you haven’t. But I just wanted to know why – and whether this is something that’s going to come up and blindside me at some point. Should I be worried?’

  Should he be worried? Should he be fucking worried? The voice in her head was getting louder with every word. That was the crux of it. He didn’t care about what happened. All he cared about was himself, his own preservation, keeping his dirty little secret, in case it came up and made Zoe think differently about him. He couldn’t stand the thought that it could cause a problem in his perfect relationship.

  She replayed the question in her mind. Why hadn’t she told Zoe?

  It was complicated and there wasn’t just one straightforward reason.

  To start with, that careers day at school, and what happened afterwards, was long before Zoe even met Ned Merton.

  Immediately after it happened, V
erity’s reaction had convinced Yvie that her sister had feelings for Ned so she’d been too wary, too worried about hurting Verity to reveal the truth, to disclose what had gone on with Ned and his games. What kind of sister did that make her? Okay, so she and Verity weren’t as close, but still, she should have been upfront with her. She hadn’t been. And the truth was, it was because she couldn’t stand delivering bad news, hated to make people unhappy, and if that meant protecting Verity from the truth, then that’s what she would do. So she’d stayed quiet, hoped that Verity’s thing for Ned would wane, because it was very, very clear that he wasn’t interested in her. Yvie just didn’t want to be the one to break that to her.

  And then…

  How could she possibly have predicted that Ned and Zoe would get together? And, of course, yes, she should have told Zoe what had happened, but so much time had passed, and if it all came out, then Verity would want to know why she’d been kept in the dark and… Fuck, it was just a complete shitshow and she couldn’t win no matter what she did. So she’d done nothing. Buried her head. Tried to forget about it. Ignored it. Hoped it would all go away. Prayed that Zoe would see sense, realise he was a rebound guy and dump him. Hoped that Verity would want nothing to do with him because he was her sister’s cast-off. Made wish after wish that Ned Merton would be out of the picture for good and she’d never have to see his face again.

  She should be so bloody lucky. Didn’t the truth always come out eventually? Didn’t secrets – even from the distant past – always get found out?

  The memory of their encounter that night had been torturing her for a long time, and now this prick, this absolute arrogant, duplicitous, two-faced prick, was wondering whether his own actions were going to ‘come up and blindside’ him?

  Violence in every form was abhorrent to her, but right now Yvie wanted to slap his face until it bled.

  ‘No, I haven’t told her, and it’s too complicated to tell you why. But you can probably boil it all down to the fact that I’m a coward.’ She hated herself. She really did. ‘Don’t you think it might be something that you should share with your girlfriend?’ she challenged him, but she saw immediately that her words were wasted when he shrugged.

  ‘No point, is there? We’ve all got pasts. I don’t see the point of dragging it all up. Zoe and me, well, we’ve got a good thing going now. A really good thing. There’s no way I’m letting something inconsequential spoil it. Especially a sister with a grudge to bear. We can’t have that, can we? It’s not my fault that all of you Danton sisters can’t seem to get enough of me.’

  The crash when the empty wine bottle hit the floor stunned them both, and it was only when she jumped back and felt the glass sear her foot that Yvie realised she had been the one who had swiped it from the worktop.

  Rage was an unfamiliar emotion for her – that had always been more in Verity and Marina’s personalities – but right now she was furious. Insanely, violently, completely fucking furious.

  ‘Whoa!’ he mumbled, jumping back, staring at her as if she was crazy. ‘What the fuck did you do that for?’

  Yvie stepped towards him. ‘You are a dick,’ she hissed in his face. ‘And my sister deserves so much better than you. If you fucking dare hurt her, I swear to God I will harm you. Do you understand me?’

  Yvie couldn’t believe this was coming out of her mouth. She wasn’t the one who challenged people, she wasn’t the one who made threats or forced confrontations. Her whole life had been about keeping the peace, making everyone happy, smoothing over troubled waters. But Ned Merton… Argh! Ned Merton, and the way he had played with other people’s feelings, was sending her over the edge.

  He didn’t get a chance to answer her question. A creak signalled the opening of the kitchen door and Yvie turned to see Verity standing in the doorway, taking in the scene before her. Ned. Yvie. A broken wine bottle. Blood seeping from her foot. Yvie had no idea that she was even hurt, her pain receptors overwhelmed by the adrenaline that was consuming her.

  ‘What the hell happened?’ Verity gasped, rushing forward.

  This was Yvie’s moment. If she chose to, she could blurt it all out, reveal the truth to Verity, then get Zoe in here too and blast the secret out and watch Ned Merton face what he’d done. She could do it. And yes, it would hurt them, but surely it was better to know the truth and understand exactly who a person was?

  This was it. Tell. Or don’t. Hurt her sisters for the greater good, even if they would think less of her. Or don’t. Wipe that smug look of victory off Ned Merton’s face. Or don’t.

  She tried to rapidly run every option and consequence through her mind, guessing at outcomes, and all the while her eyes were locked with his, a vile sneer on his face, as if he was almost daring her to say something.

  Verity didn’t even notice, too busy grabbing a tea towel from the worktop and diving to the floor to wrap it around Yvie’s foot.

  ‘Bloody hell, it looks like a crime scene in here. Sit down. You’re bleeding all over Marina’s travertine floor. She’ll go apeshit if she sees this.’

  Yvie let herself be guided to a chair, then Verity pulled over another one – the same one Verity had sat in after she’d fainted earlier – and propped Yvie’s leg up on it with a towel underneath to protect the wood.

  Ned, meanwhile, had jumped into action, soaking a huge wad of paper towels and then handing the sodden lump to Verity to press against Yvie’s foot. It was all she could do not to kick him in the face with it. Behind Verity, he was gazing at her, almost daring her to do it.

  ‘Let’s try to get this cleaned up before anyone comes in. The last thing we need tonight is any more drama. Marina’s already stressed out of her head, the kids are getting edgy, I fainted, and the whole night is in danger of being chalked up as yet another Danton Christmas disaster. Honestly, why can’t we just have a drama free Christmas for once in our lives? And how did this even happen?’ she asked again.

  Ok, last chance. Tell Verity. Go on. Get it out.

  ‘I must have… must have…’ Yvie tried to get her brain to work in rational thoughts. What had happened to her? Ned Merton had happened. But now Verity’s words were echoing in her head.

  'The whole night is in danger of being chalked up as yet another Danton Christmas disaster. Honestly, why can’t we just have a drama free Christmas for once in our lives?’

  She couldn’t add to this family’s heartache. Couldn’t cause a scene. Couldn’t explode a bombshell into their Christmas celebrations. They’d had enough of those to last a lifetime.

  Instead, she blustered, ‘I accidentally knocked an empty bottle over and stood on a piece of the broken glass.’

  Verity nodded. ‘That’s Marina’s fault for making us all take our shoes off the minute we walk in the door.’

  When Verity finally pulled the towels back, Yvie bent her knee and brought her foot up to survey the damage. It was mostly superficial cuts. Nothing serious. No major damage done.

  She just wished she could say the same for the rest of her life.

  Maybe there would be a time when she would have the courage to tell everyone the truth. But it wouldn’t be tonight.

  30

  Marina – Last Christmas at Home

  ‘You have got to be kidding me,’ Marina blurted, her mouth wide with horror as she saw the oozing puddle of red liquid on her travertine tiles. ‘Tell me that’s the raspberry sauce I’d left out for the ice cream? Actually, don’t tell me that because I’ll never get it out of the bloody floor.’

  Marina was very aware that it didn’t reflect well on her that her first instinct here had been concern for the tiles rather than her sister, who was looking exceptionally pale, with one leg up on a chair and the other with… Bugger, was that her new Cath Kidston towels that were wrapped around her foot? They were limited edition!

  Seriously, this day could not get any worse. She’d woken before dawn, Graham’s snoring rousing her from her sleep way earlier than she had planned, and she’d lain there
for a while, listening to him, wondering how much longer she could take this life, here, with him. Actually, that wasn’t quite true. The reality was that she didn’t have an option, despite her growing realisation that this marriage wasn’t working, wasn’t giving her what she needed on any level.

  She felt unappreciated, unfulfilled, and yes, pretty unloved. On the physical side, they hadn’t had sex for weeks. Months maybe. At least, not with each other. Marina flushed as she pushed down the memories of her dalliances. There had been a couple more since Ibiza. Different hotels each time. Different men. She could barely remember their faces, but she remembered exactly how they made her feel.

  If Graham noticed their sexual drought, then he certainly wasn’t saying anything. He was too consumed by work, too wrapped up in his life outside the house, that their interactions when they were alone had become almost completely perfunctory.

  Did you manage to collect the dry cleaning?

  Oh, David was saying that they’re looking at skiing the first weekend in February next year. Can you give Samantha a call and suggest meeting them there?

  That bloody light is flashing on my dashboard again. Can you get it booked in for a service?

  But as for her? She couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched her, spoken to her properly, the way… She squeezed her eyes shut as the thought set her brain on fire. The way that Ned Merton had talked to her. Like he cared. Like he wanted to hear what she had to say. For a minute back on that night they’d had dinner, she’d even thought that he was interested in her sexually. She’d felt something, a moment. Now, she knew it was all a figment of her imagination. Of course, he didn’t. She’d just had her head turned by the attention. They’d met many times since then and he’d never been anything but friendly and warm. What did it say about her and her marriage that she was so starved of genuine affection she was actually imagining her sister’s boyfriend may have been attracted to her?